Mylar Prompts
by bluecellphone
Summary: A series of Mylar prompts, fairly short, and mostly intended to be humorous. some chapters are smutty Mylars just tryin' to live a normal life...Adding as I go!
1. Prompt 1: Laundry Detergent

These are a series of mylar prompts, most of which were given to me by a few lovely Sarmy members! A couple of them I wrote on a whim, but thanks goes out to those who solved my writer's block by shouting out funny mylar situations one night in chat 3

-Prompt 1: Out of Laundry Detergent-

"Not again!" Mohinder whined, pouring merely a quarter of the required amount of laundry detergent in with his plaid shirts. "I told him to get more," he hissed through gritted teeth, leaning on the cold, white machine in frustration. Turning on heel, his curls brushed back at the speed in which he huffed into the living room.

"Sylar?" his foot tapped, arms folded, glaring at the man slumped lazily on the couch.

"Yeah?" the stubbly man peeked his dark eyes over the back of the couch to the glaring doctor. "What's wrong?"

"You used the last of the detergent, and then forgot to get more. _That's_ what is wrong." A chocolate colored finger wagged at Sylar. He sighed, swinging his legs around to sit up properly on the couch.

"I'll get more later."

"Why not now?" Inquiring eyebrows rose at the suggestion. Sylar paused, giving Mohinder a 'duh' look, gesturing to the television.

"MythBusters is on!" Mohinder's eyes widened in disbelief. "Come on, you love this show," Sylar stated, tapping the cushion next to him. "Come watch."

"Sylar!" He scolded, running over to block the man's view of the television set. "I think you'd better go get detergent now, or-"

"Or what?" A single thick eyebrow perked upwards.

"Or…" Mohinder shifted trying to think of a suitable punishment for his lazy boyfriend. "You know," he changed the subject deciding instead that scolding the ex-murderer would be much better. "Your abilities have made you lazy Sylar. I ask you to do the dishes, and you complete them from the couch! I ask you to make dinner and you float it from the Chinese restaurant across the street!" Mohinder's hand gestures became more animated as his fury struggled to make its point.

Sylar's head recoiled at the sudden onset of confidence and anger from his usually docile mate.

"My abilities make our life easier, Mohinder. And there's nothing wrong with that!" he huffed, offended. Mohinder took a breath in, shifting his weight, and calmly stated,

"I'd just like you to remember to get the things I ask you to. Surely you can handle that."

"Fine." Sylar's back slammed down onto the couch as he turned the television's volume up.

"Fine." Mohinder trudged back into the kitchen.

"You never complained about my abilities before!" a voice boomed after him.

"You weren't lazy before," the geneticist mumbled, thinking he was out of audible range, but received another angry roar in return.

"I heard that!"

Mohinder sighed at his lethargic lover. He hadn't intended to cause a fight. He simply wanted Sylar to get more detergent! _Sylar should have__. He should be happy to do things for me. No, no._ Mohinder shook his head. Laundry detergent was not something to fight over. _We deal with so many __stressful__ things in our __lives;__ this should not be a __disagreement_

He turned to go apologize but was surprised by Sylar standing directly behind him.

"I'm going to the store," he murmured, "don't be mad at me." Realizing that he now had the upper-hand in the situation, Mohinder's apologetic face wiped to a stern one.

"Good." He nodded once in agreement. Sylar hovered for a moment in front of him.

"I'll make it up to you. I promise," the taller man whispered. He leaned in, planting a soft kiss on Mohinder's stern, furrowed brow. The doctor's false anger faded at this sentiment. He lost the upper-hand.

_"_And how might you do that?" he breathed. Curiosity was getting the better of him.

Sylar rubbed his chin in thought. "Tonight…no telekinesis in bed!" he asserted. "If you claim that I'm becoming lazy, then I need to cut back." _No fair! He's trying to make me feel bad!__ He's using reverse-psychology on me! _Mohinder's pout made it apparent to Sylar that it was working.

"But I li-" the doctor's protesting words were cut off by a single long, pale finger over his lips.

"No, no, no, Mohinder. If you think it's a good idea, then I'll see it through." _Damn you Sylar!_ Sylar's triumphant smirk sent Mohinder's heart through a giddy spiral. This was a good reminder of just how clever the ex-murderer really was.

"Do you need anything while I'm out?" Sylar yelled back to the flabbergasted geneticist as he tugged his coat on. Mohinder shook his 'yes' head feverishly, washing away the shock.

"Uh…yeah. Laundry detergent." They shared a smile; Sylar's a little more devious than Mohinder's. He turned back to the kitchen counter rolling his eyes, only to feel a sharp telekinetic pinch on his bottom.

"Ow!" the doctor spun abruptly, holding the stinging area, as the door to their apartment clicked shut. Mohinder smiled his big, blinding, eye-brow raised smile. Sylar couldn't stand not using his abilities on him. For that reason, he knew he'd regain the upper-hand in the argument later that night.


	2. Prompt 2: Mylar goes to a bar

-Prompt 2: Mylar goes to a bar-

"Mohinder, do we have to go in?" Sylar whined. He winced at the booming sound coming from inside the tiny bar. Mohinder rolled his eyes, excitedly rubbing his hands together.

"Yes! We never go out together." He tilted his head towards the door, suggesting that the taller man should enter. Sylar stood unexcited and hunched, hands in his pockets. He pouted.

"Oh come on! It will be fun!" How could he resist that adorable accent? He moved willingly at his curly-haired companion's eager tug.

A blast of warm, stale air hit them as they stepped through the door. Sylar scrunched his nose at the aroma of beer, rum, and clearly uneatable food. As the song changed over the speakers, he cringed heavily, covering his ears with his hands.

Noticing, Mohinder fumbled in his coat pocket.

"Here," he shoved two foam earplugs at Sylar. What he got in return were dark, glaring eyes from beneath a robust brow.

"I'm NOT wearing those, Mohinder!" he yelled over the pounding song.

"You'll kill yourself if you don't!" Mohinder chimed back. Sylar bent down, nearly falling to the floor, as the song hit its raging chorus. With a growl his bony fingers snatched the foam from Mohinder and shoved it into his ears. The sounds around him muted to a dull, muffled roar and he sighed, content with the level.

Mohinder flashed him a comforting, apologetic smile and lead them both over to the bar.

"Two rum and cokes please!" he chirped to the bartender, removing his coat and slipping onto a bar stool.

"And a beer," Sylar growled, sliding next to him. He wasn't happy about being there, and he was making sure his boyfriend knew it. Seeing Sylar's discontent, Mohinder leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek; a simple thank-you kiss. Sylar winked at him without cracking a smile, letting his mate know that he was in full compliance that night. His geneticist lover worked so hard all the time and Sylar knew he deserved some fun.

"Too loud in here for ya?" the robust bartender laughed, pointing to Sylar's ears after giving them their drinks. The non-vocal threat he got in return from Sylar's scowling face made him shrug and move down the bar to another customer. After taking hold of his beer, Sylar turned in his seat so that his back was to the bar, elbows propping him up. He took a swig of beer, scanning the room with calculating eyes.

"This place is quite charming!" Mohinder proclaimed, noticing all of the jolly couples laughing and having a good time. "It has an absolutely lovely atmosphere about it. Wouldn't you agree?" He turned to an un-amused Sylar and received a sarcastic nod in return.

"Oh Mohinder, I do hope you bring me here every weekend!" he joked before chugging the rest of his beer and slamming it on the counter behind him.

"Be nice!" Mohinder laughed. "It's not my fault you're anti-social!"

"I resent that! You know what my childhood was like. I didn't have many friends. I didn't go out very much. I'm a reserved person."

"I know, I know. I was only kidding Sylar." He handed Sylar his untouched rum and coke, simultaneously sipping on his own. Sylar downed his drink in only a few gulps.

"Slow down!" Mohinder stared wide-eyed at his lover as he finished off the drink and motioned to the bartender for another.

"I feel uncomfortable here," Sylar said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Well if you don't slow down then you'll be too drunk to dance later."

"Mohinder it takes a lot to get me dru-" Sylar paused, eyes flicking to the doctor. "Did you say dance?"

"Yes. Dance. We're going to dance later." Mohinder was positively beaming at the idea.

"Oh, no no no! That was NOT part of the deal!" Sylar affirmed, standing up as if he was about to make a break for the door.

"Relax, would you? It will be fun!"

"Relax. Relax he says. I'm going to make a fool of myself and he tells me to relax," Sylar mumbled, slumping onto the bar. As the bartender was socializing at the other end and taking too long for his liking, Sylar used his abilities to retrieve another beer from the refrigerator behind the counter. Luckily Mohinder didn't notice.

"See," Mohinder motioned to the few couples across the room who were dancing. "All you do is…move."

"I know HOW to dance. That's not the problem. It's what I look like dancing." Mohinder tilted his head sideways in amused disagreement.

"I'm sure you look very sexy dancing." Sylar blushed as Mohinder squeezed his jean-clad knee. His nerves got the better of him, and he finished off his beer, only to grab the drink from Mohinder's hand and finish it too. He let out a satisfied "Ahhh" as he felt the alcohol start to work in his system, soothing him. Mohinder giggled, ordering two more drinks and slapping a crisp 20 dollar bill onto the bar. "Keep 'em coming please," he smiled at the bartender. They kept coming, and Sylar drank them as quickly as the man could make them.

Before long, a tipsy Sylar had eagerly pulled Mohinder onto the dance floor. The couple gathered stares as flailing arms and legs jutted out in every direction. Mohinder was twirled, dipped, and swung by Sylar, whose beaming stubble-laced face grew redder and redder. They were both laughing after a 3-song stretch of careless dancing caused them to crash through the bar door into the cool night air.

"Mmm! That was refreshing!" Mohinder breathed in, feeling a rush of ice-cold wind brush past his rum-burned throat.

"Indeed," Sylar slurred, followed by a burp that rumbled deep inside him. He pulled the foam from his ears, throwing it onto the ground, and missed as he tried to kick it away.

"Uh, yeah. Let's get you home." Mohinder wrapped Sylar's arm around his neck, struggling to hold the bigger man up.

"We should do this more often, Mohinder." Sylar's squinted eyes and enlarged grin beamed down at the doctor. He tripped, nearly sending them both into a face plant on the hard concrete sidewalk.

"Woah!" Mohinder said, steadying them. "Yes Sylar. We will do this again. But with less drinking next time." Mohinder smiled as he got a sloppy kiss on the top of his head. "Thank you for coming with me, Sylar."

"Anything for you, Doctor Suresh!" Sylar exclaimed, squeezing the smaller man heartily. They stumbled home into a warm bed, into warm arms, and fell into a drunken bliss. The next day Sylar was teased nonstop about his dancing. He saw Mohinder's upcoming birthday as the perfect excuse to get a spot in a couples' dance class. He was going to need it.


	3. Prompt 3: Good, clean, dirty fun!

warning – smut smut smut smut smut!!!

-Prompt 3: Good, clean, dirty fun-

Soft, slow brush strokes across the canvas were spreading copious amounts of vibrant colors; mixing and swirling. Sylar's intense white eyes followed the paintbrush as his careful fingers manipulated its wooden handle to create the image. Suddenly his arm halted as if possessed by an unseen muse, and pulled away from the canvas. He smiled as the white curtain shrouding his eyes faded away, stepping back to behold his work. "Interesting," his deep voice purred. Grabbing a dirtied towel from the chair next to him, he wiped his long fingers clean from a color-array of paint smudges.

A feverish knock on his apartment door caused him to break his gaze from the art and let in the expected visitor. Before the door was fully creaked open, a disheveled Mohinder Suresh pushed his way through. Paper bag in hand, nearly dropping it in all it's over-flowing glory, he rushed to the kitchen table to relieve his straining arms. He steadied the spilling contents of the bag on the table in a clash of clinking bottles and cans.

"Hello, Sylar." Mohinder straightened up, wiping his palms on the plaid button-up shirt covering his chest. He gulped nervously.

"Hi," Sylar strutted past him to the kitchen sink, giving him the most devious smirk that he could muster. "Couldn't handle another lonely night, could you Doctor Suresh?"

"Well…its…I mean I could indeed, its just. I thought you…" the geneticist stammered, brushing back his shimmering curls. Even after so many meaningful nights with the anti-hero, his nerves still got the better of him.

"They still don't know you come here, do they?" Sylar grinned as his caramel companion struggled in embarrassment, sweat beading on his forehead.

"No," he bowed his head. "I'm afraid they wouldn't understand." He knew they wouldn't. How could anyone understand such an intelligent man surrendering himself to an ex-murderer night after night? He wasn't even sure if it was love; all he cared to know was how Sylar made him feel.

"What they don't know won't hurt them," Sylar cooed, brushing past Mohinder, touching him just enough to create a tremor in the other man's faltering stance.

"Right," he breathed out, feeling the brush of Sylar's essence roll past him.

"So what'd you bring?" Sylar was standing in front of the painting again. He knew the answer to his question.

"Oh, um, just some…ice cream and various toppings." Mohinder fumbled innocently through the mess of food on the table, running his fingers over the objects, blissfully unaware of how they were going to be consumed.

"Whipped cream and hot fudge, Mohinder?" Sylar chuckled. But Mohinder hadn't noticed Sylar so much as glance at the table since he'd arrived. Confused about his all-knowing partner, he turned towards the taller man.

"How did you – "taking a few steps forward so that he was just behind Sylar, he peered around the stern figure to the painting. "Oh," Mohinder said, tilting his head almost horizontally to the left at the odd display on the canvas. "Oh my." Swallowing hard at the tangled mess of limbs he was viewing, his methodical brain tried desperately to decide which way was up and which body parts belonged to which man.

"I think you may have that upside-down Sylar." Mohinder reached a skinny hand towards the canvas, only to have a tight grip immediately clasp around his wrist. Startled, he transferred his gaze to Sylar's dark eyes that were squinting intensely at the scene before him.

"No," he growled, "It looks like we're trying something new tonight." Mohinder took a step back.

"I don't know about that, Sylar. It looks kind of…messy."

"Isn't that why you come here night after night, Mohinder? So that I can play with you?" Sylar turned towards the cowering, unsure doctor. The glint in his eyes pushed Mohinder another step backwards. He shook his head 'no', but he knew it was a lie.

"It's a release. The work you do is stressful, Mohinder, I understand." Sylar began to stalk towards Mohinder, and the few feet of empty air between them grew smaller. Mohinder jumped as the wall behind him collided with his back.

"That doesn't look like fun, Sylar," his words fumbled as he motioned to the painting, grimacing as his eyes scanned over the image again. Sylar's eager hand raised, fingers open, welcoming a floating jar of fudge into his palm. Pausing just before reaching the trembling geneticist, both of their gazes dropped as his hand began to glow a deep shade of red. He grinned as steam rose from the jar and his fingers returned back to a normal shade of pale pink. A flick of his free hand sent Mohinder's button-up shirt flying from him in two directions. Mohinder gasped; about to comment on how Sylar had just ruined one of his favorite tops, but the other man was on him too quickly.

"Shhhh," Sylar's warm, hot mouth breathed onto a dark, stubbly neck. "You're going to like this." Mohinder felt a searing hot sensation on his collarbone, causing his head to shoot back into the wall. Baring his teeth in pain, he breathed in sharply as the heat rolled slowly down his chest. It moved like dawdling lava, flowing down his stomach, pooling in his bellow button, and dripping onto the floor. Sylar crouched, eye-level with Mohinder's stomach, and looked up the doctor's heaving chest before unleashing a fury of pleasure.

Mohinder felt a warm tongue, no comparison to the burning fudge that had left a trail on his skin. It moved gradually upwards, following the course of the sticky substance, stopping every few inches for suctioned lips to have a taste. A small gasp forced its way from Mohinder's throat as Sylar reached his neck. Nibbling teeth moved under his jaw to the opposite ear where they bit and licked a chocolate colored ear lobe. Warm breath seeped excitedly into Mohinder's ear as Sylar forcefully parted two weakening knees with one of his own. Mohinder, melting just as easily as the fudge had, now required a small amount of telekinesis to help him stand.

Sylar dipped his index finger into the jar of melted chocolate and forced it between Mohinder's quivering lips. Reflexively, the doctor closed his mouth around the lengthy, bony finger, sucking slightly as it retreated from his lips. The burning desire for more was swiftly fulfilled by Sylar's hard, forceful mouth descending on his own. A warm tongue brushed his, as if searching for a remaining trace of the sweet substance.

"Mohinder," Sylar growled, vibrating their mouths together. The Indian closed his eyes hard, whimpering, as Sylar ran his hands down his stomach to undo his blue jeans. The restricting pants were growing tighter and tighter as Mohinder grew more excited in the moment.

After tugging the pants down boxer-clad hips, Sylar pulled away, allowing them to plummet to the floor. Without his support system, Mohinder slid down the wall into a quivering mess on the floor, sticky with dried traces of melted fudge. He watched, panting, as Sylar sorted through the condiments on the table, examining each jar and can, gathering the flavors that were to his liking. Watching his lover decide his fate for the night provoked Mohinder further, sending tremors through his entire body. Unattended vanilla ice cream and begun to melt, and was dripping from the table. Not surprisingly, the vanilla-loving ex-murderer grabbed it too.

He stepped back to Mohinder's quivering frame, floating the condiments the rest of the way to the bedroom, and bent down to pick up his faltering lover. Mohinder was hastily driven into the bedroom and gently pushed onto a soft bed.

"Hmmm," Sylar contemplated which flavor to use first as he tugged his own clothing off, revealing an elevated, pale, confident form. Mohinder couldn't stand the pause. He wanted more. Leaping upwards, he pulled the pondering psychopath onto the bed, forcefully straddling the lean figure, pinning him to the bed. Sylar beamed.

The geneticist's always-calculating brain decided he would make a vanilla sundae out of his lover. First, he reached for the ice cream. It was ice-cold as he submerged his fingers into the tub, scooping a handful out. Like a finger-painting artist, he smothered Sylar's chest and neck in the frosty substance, smirking as the man below him arched his back at the sensation. Sylar hissed as the rapidly melting vanilla rolled across his ribs and chest, mingling with the skin of his back. Mohinder licked the entire length of this palm before bending down to give Sylar a soft kiss; quite opposite from the harsh one he had received earlier. Sylar attempted to bite back but Mohinder pulled away, reaching for the can of whipped cream.

A boisterous whooshing sound called from the can as a steady stream of the topping was sprayed in nonsensical patterns atop the melting ice cream.

Bypassing the already cooled fudge, he finished off his Sylar sundae by dangling a maraschino cherry into the ex-murderers mouth, pulling back a stem after gritting teeth released it from the cherry. Mohinder bent down again, skimming the whipped cream with his tongue. What remained of the mess was slowly sliding from Sylar's body onto the bed below.

As he reached Sylar's neck, kissing and licking gently, he could feel the man below him growing harder with every flick of his tongue. The anticipation built up inside the man until he could no longer stand not being in control.

Suddenly, an invisible force effortlessly flipped them over so that he was once again on bottom. Mohinder's nose scrunched at the wet, sticky feeling below him, and the gooey dripping substance seeping off of the man above him. As they collided; mouth to mouth, chest to chest, hips grinding; they were seemingly glued together by the gummy ice cream and whipped topping. Mohinder mentally shrugged away the hatred for feeling so sticky, as he realized Sylar's next move.

Bony fingers wrapped themselves under the elastic of Mohinder's boxers, sliding them down and off, tossing them aside. The devious look on Sylar's face sent the doctor's heart into a spiraling flutter as the man bent down. He enveloped Mohinder's member in a warm, hot mouth, moving up down slowly, teasingly. The Indian arched in want; need burning deep inside his stomach. He wanted Sylar to move faster, to push harder. He wanted the pain that he had been in denial about earlier.

Hungry hands grasped wildly at Sylar's black hair, but it was too slippery and too short for the Indian to grasp. As he curled, stomach muscles tensing, Sylar saw that his lover was near his peak. Removing plump lips from Mohinder, he grinned at the winded, sticky mess below him.

Wrapping strong fingers around Mohinder's hips, he turned the doctor over. Fingers grasped a handful of soft brown curls, yanking the attached head backwards.

"Told you it would be fun," he breathed into Mohinder's ear before forcing himself in. Mohinder, submitting himself to the lean man, winced in pain. He called out Sylar's name as the thrusts grew harder, unable to contain his love for the pain his companion was making him feel. He let go, losing all inhibitions, forgetting about the piles and piles of work he had waiting for him in the lab. The stress seemed to melt away as the pain faded to pleasure, and he wanted Sylar to be deeper.

Mohinder reached up to his throat as he felt a gooey liquid trickle down. Unable to decipher what it was simply by sight, a single wipe of his tongue sent the tang of strawberry stinging through his taste buds.

Sylar slowed, cupping his warm hand under Mohinder's chin, bringing his head back gently. The doctor felt a wave of ravenous sensation flow throw his limbs as a wet tongue slid up the back of his neck, lapping up the strawberry topping. A moan escaped his lips.

"Sylar," he whined, as rigid teeth bit at the meat of his shoulder, leaving red marks. Mohinder didn't want the moment to end. He savored every second, every heave, and every sticky, warm sensation. Sylar's groans from behind him, pausing periodically to massage caramel skin with his tongue, caused Mohinder to climax. The two lovers released almost in unison, as they always did. They were meant for each other; bodies fitting perfectly together, knowing exactly what sensations would set each other off.

As Sylar collapsed on top of him, pinning him to the gluey bed, he could barely breathe but he didn't care. He was buzzing from a sexual high.

The taller man began to take notice of Mohinder's struggling breaths, and rolled off onto his back. The doctor stayed put, unable to move, in a paralyzed state of euphoria.

"That was messy," he reflected. Sylar grinned.

"At least you got what you came for."

"I think it worked out quite nicely," Mohinder smiled, acknowledging his accomplishment of fulfilling two cravings at once. Sylar planted a kiss on the doctor's wet temple before standing and walking to the bathroom.

"Just wait 'til later," he called to the spent geneticist. "We didn't even get to do what I painted."


	4. Prompt 4: The Shower Doesn't Work!

I wrote this more as a dialogue because I think I use too much description in my fics. I wanted to try the complete opposite. It's supposed to be silly, not serious. Enjoy!

-Prompt 4: Shower doesn't work-

"Second time this week. Unbelievable."

"The landlord. He must die."

"Now, now, Sylar."

The distraught lovers glared at the dripping shower head that should have been gushing water at full blast.

"Don't 'now now' me! How are we going to take showers? Am I supposed to lick you clean?"

The idea intrigued Mohinder.

"That doesn't sound so bad, actually."

Sylar scoffed.

"As much as I like they way you taste, I think licking you every morning would get tiring."

"As much as I like the way your tongue feels, I don't think it is a proper cleaning tool."

"So we're agreed then. No licking. What do we do?"

Mohinder rubbed his hands together.

"We've got to get creative!"

The lovers spent half an hour rushing buckets of water from the kitchen sink into the bathtub.

Sticking a toe in, Mohinder shivered.

"It's freezing!"

"Well it _has_ been sitting here for a while."

"Stick your hand in there and heat it up!" Mohinder ordered.

Sylar rolled his eyes.

"Get in first."

"And have you boil me alive? I don't think so Sylar!"

"It's going to cool down quicker than I can heat it."

"Well if I get in now, can you give it…half heat?"

"Half heat?"

"Yes. Only use, you know, half of the ability."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Sure it does! Instead of making your hands all bright red, turn them a nice shade of…pink."

Mohinder smiled. He liked pink.

"Pink?"

"Pink."

"I don't think it's possible."

"Why not?"

"First of all, I don't _do_ pink. Second of all…just…no."

"Do you have a better idea?"

_Quick Sylar, think! _

"I got nothing." He pouted as he knelt beside the tub, rolling up his black sleeve and submersing his hand.

It flashed bright red and the water immediately came to a bubble.

"Woah, now! Too hot!" Mohinder grabbed his shoulders.

"Give me a second," Sylar growled, closing his eyes tightly.

"There you go. A little more. A little more Sylar. Ah see! Pink!"

"Damnit!" Water splattered as a wet hand flew from the tub.

"I knew you could do it!" Mohinder planted a congratulatory kiss on his lover's cheek.

"Are you going to get in?"

"Hmm." Suresh stuck his finger in. "Its cold already!"

"I told you."

"Well I don't know what else to do." Frustrated fingers ran through bouncy curls.

They heard the soft padding of tiny feet run past the bathroom door and a high-pitched voice squealed truth at them.

"A cold shower would do you both good!"

They glanced nervously at each other.

"How does she know what a cold shower is for?"

"I had nothing to do with it," Sylar raised his hands.

"Do you think we're too loud at night?"

"You have no idea how loud you are, Mohinder."

"Well that's not fair, you have super hearing."

"I wouldn't have to have that ability to wince at how loud you scream my name."

Mohinder blushed.

_Quick, change the subject. _

"The shower."

"Yes… It's broken."

"Obviously. Fix it."

Sylar placed his hands on his hips.

"Don't you think I would have done that already, Mohinder?"

"I thought you could fix anything."

"Anything previously working, yes. This stupid thing has never worked properly."

"Ah right. You have to break functioning things to see how the work." Mohinder shook his head at the utter silliness of the statement.

"So find me a working shower to break."

They called Peter Petrelli who was quick to say, _No you two cannot __come over and __break my shower. _

"Well he's no help," Mohinder huffed, hanging up the phone.

"Did you expect him to be excited about that?"

"Yes. He is a ball of joy after all," Mohinder stated sarcastically.

"What now?"

"I don't know but I'm feeling dirty."

Sylar's eyebrow perked at his lover's statement.

"Not like that!" Mohinder shoved him lightly.

"Well my tongue isn't doing anything at the moment."

"Stop that. This is not the right time."

"It's always the right time. "

They shared a look.

Sylar shrugged. "Let's get in."

Mohinder was reluctant, knowing how cold it would be, but nodded in agreement. The door to the bathroom closed at the hand of an unseen force and they stripped their clothes off.

Within a minute or two they were sitting knee to knee in just a few inches of water staring blankly at each other.

"Why isn't this more awkward?" Mohinder questioned, taking in the oddity of the situation.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before."

"But you're always…behind me."

"Turn around if you feel uncomfortable."

He hesitated before standing up and rotating, then sat back down between Sylar's knees.

"_Now_ its awkward."

"Why?"

"Because I can't see you."

"Usually that isn't an issue."

"Usually we're not in a bathtub and usually I'm more concerned with your fingernails digging into my skin."

Sylar laughed, running a water-soaked hand over the red marks across Mohinder's back.

The doctor shivered.

"Well you might as well make yourself useful." He handed Sylar the shampoo.

"Flatten the curls?! It's a sin!"

"It must be done Sylar."

Reluctantly he cupped water onto Mohinder's head, frowning as his hair stretched out and dripped sloppily.

Feverish slender fingers scrubbed the brown mess creating an afro of white soap.

Sylar was like a kid, giving Mohinder a Mohawk before dumping more water and washing away the soap.

"Ow! My eyes!"

"Why didn't you close them?"

"I had no warning!"

"Tilt your head back." Sylar cupped his hand under Mohinder's chin and craned his head back softly before continuing.

When he was done, Suresh stood up and spun, ordering Sylar to do the same. Rotated and seated, he poured a mound of shampoo onto the taller man's stylish locks.

"Mmm, scalp massage," Sylar purred.

"Yes, we should do this more often. With or without a working shower!" He planted a kiss on Sylar's cheek after washing the shampoo away.

"Conditioner?" Sylar offered.

"I'm far too cold."

"Time to get out?"

"Yes!"

Sylar helped Mohinder speed-dry his messy curls, pleased with how they looked after removing the towel from his head.

"Lovely." He leaned in, smelling the newly-washed hair.

"You have an odd fascination with my hair, Mr. Sylar."

"Who wouldn't? It's springy." He grasped a single curl and smiled with glee as he let it go.

Mohinder smiled and wrapped a large towel around his lover's waist, securing it in a crafty tucking fashion, then did the same to himself.

They exited the bathroom and were greeted by a beaming Molly.

"Did it work?"

"Uh…" Mohinder froze.

"What?" Sylar tilted his head.

"The cold water!" She giggled before turning and running back to her room.

They flashed each other a look that said, _No it most certainly did not._

Hand in hand they walked towards their bedroom.

"Who cares about cold water when you can produce such heat in the bedroom?" Sylar murmured before closing the bedroom door.

"Shhh, Sylar!" A caramel hand covered his mouth in fear of the little ears lurking near.

They spent the rest of the afternoon cuddling in bed, shrugging away any future cold baths they would be taking together.


	5. Prompt 5: Yearly Checkup

This is for my dear friend, Kiyo, because I lost a bet and was ordered to write a fic. Hmm...maybe I should lose bets more often? This one was fun. Sorry for any typos. I has no Beta and I suck at proofreading.

It is a prompt I got a little while ago: Mohinder takes Sylar to the doctor and has a heck of a time getting Sylar to calm down. Apparently he's very afraid of the doctor's office!

Rating: NC-17 or Hard R for smut and language

Word count: 4,740

enjoy kiyo!

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"Will you calm down? Breathe slower, Sylar. You're going to pass out!"

Mohinder leaned over, planting his palms onto Sylar's bouncing knees in an attempt to stop the nervous jiggle.

Sylar only glowered, narrowing his eyes at Mohinder and snarling. He unclasped his sweaty hands and cracked the knuckles anxiously.

Mohinder moved a hand to Sylar's rapidly rising and falling chest, feeling a heart inside beating as though it would burst free.

"Its not going to be that terrible," he continued, grabbing Sylar's chin and forcing the distraught man to look him in the eye. Mohinder knew what his eyes did to his lover; he hoped their depths would soothe his racing mind. Sylar had often told him that it was not so difficult to get lost in the dark brown pools when intent on figuring out what made the doctor tick.

Ignoring the invitation for visual seduction, Sylar snapped his head free, folding his arms tightly across his chest, and started to bounce his knees again.

"You don't understand," he growled, looking down at the loud linoleum floor. "You're a doctor and you're used to this sort of thing."

Mohinder rubbed his face tiredly and leaned back in the uncomfortable chair.

"Nobody likes going to the doctor, Sylar."

"And nobody has been through what I have!" Sylar snapped, eyes flaring in short-tempered anger at the memories flooding him. The waiting room fell deadly silent and all eyes transferred to the odd couple.

Mohinder tried his best to appease the stares by smiling and nodding his head apologetically at them until they went back to their unimportant conversations.

He sighed loudly before continuing.

"I know. I understand. Primatech."

It was all he needed to say. That one word set a fire ablaze inside Sylar and Mohinder could almost feel the heat radiating from his lover. Nothing else needed to be said; being strapped down in a hospital-like torture chamber and nearly dying due to selfish experimentation was enough to make anyone afraid of a doctor's office. Not to mention Sylar's phobia of needles that had been present his whole life. Mohinder shuddered, thinking he wished he'd known about that before the unfortunate spinal tap incident.

After a few moments of silence, Sylar's breath evened and his face contorted into an expression of complete woe. He turned his body towards Mohinder in a pleading hunch.

"I don't understand why you can't just do the check up." His eyes were big and filling with tears, a sight that forced Mohinder's own to close as a ping of guilt struck his heart.

"No. It's unethical. I can't examine you properly because I'm biased, it just wouldn't work."

This time it was Sylar who reached for him, latching onto Mohinder's flamboyantly patterned coat.

"That doesn't make any sense, you know me better than anyone else, you know my body better. You can tell immediately if something is off. "

Mohinder glanced around the room as Sylar's panicked tone caught attentions once again.

"Sylar," he breathed, peeling the fingers from his jacket and enter twining their hands together. Sylar's hand was moist and slippery and he was taken aback by the unavoidable display of vulnerability and fear from his usually confident mate. He'd never seen Sylar so nervous before, and the guilt sunk in even more. He wanted to grab his lover and drag him home to where he felt completely safe and calm. But a yearly doctor's checkup is vital to every human - even those with special abilities.

Mohinder leaned in, pressing his cheek to Sylar's rough stubble in order to escape the prying ears of the other patients.

"You know we'd never make it past getting you into a gown." His whisper tickled Sylar's ear and neither man was able to hold back a grin at the thought.

Mohinder pulled back and, noticing the mirrored smirk, planted a quick kiss on the other man's lips. He ignored a gasp from the corner of the room, enjoying for the first time the patronizing attention.

"Do this for me and I'll reward you later," he teased as he brushed his mouth against Sylar's jaw. Scooting back in his seat he winked at the robust lady across from them who had one hand covering her child's eyes and the other hovering near her agape mouth.

Sylar's newly relaxed form jerked as a nurse called out, "Gabriel Gray?" from the doorway.

His grip on Mohinder's hand tightened intensely, eliciting a wince from t he Indian.

He was frozen, eyes wide with fear at the sight of the smiling lady holding his folder in her arms.

Mohinder stood up, giving his lover a few seconds to do so as well before tugging him lightly by the hand.

"Come on, it's alright."

It took all of Mohinder's strength to pull Sylar to his feet and after doing so he smoothed down his lovers jacket in an attempt to make him look more presentable.

Sylar reluctantly shuffled his feet as Mohinder tugged him into the white hallway. They trailed the nurse after a friendly "Follow me please," Mohinder looking back constantly to the tormented face of his mate. He couldn't help but smile inside at how cute the stress of the situation contorted those rather prominent features.

When they came to the room, the nurse stepped aside allowing them entry, but Sylar was having no such offer. He planted his hands firmly on either side of the door frame and glued his feet to the floor as Mohinder pushed against his back. They struggled like that for a few minutes under the confused gaze of the woman, Mohinder leaning all his weight into Sylar's immobile form.

With a grunt the geneticist stepped away and said calmly to the nurse,

"I'll get him in there, please, just give me a minute." He smiled kindly as she hesitated then turned and bounced down the hallway to another room.

Mohinder cleared his throat while stretching his fingers out and curling them back into fists in preparation.

"You've left me no choice," he whispered against Sylar's ear before pulling back to watch the taller man's body, completely unmoving save for a slowly expanding and collapsing chest.

Without preempt he lunged at Sylar, running his fingers roughly up and down the man's ribs and tickling with a fury that caused him to grit his shock-white teeth.

The watchmaker, in uncontrollable reflex, curled into himself, releasing his grip on the door frame. Mohinder wasted no time, using his weight to push the giggling man into the room.

With exasperated breath he closed the door as Sylar plummeted onto the exam room bed. The white paper covering gaudy brown cushion was immediately crumpled and ripped as he dug his fingers into it with an angry growl.

He straightened and narrowed his eyes at the grinning Indian.

"Move, Mohinder. Or I'll make you move."

"No you won't."

Mohinder stepped away from the door, challenging his lover. They were locked in a glaring battle of wills for a good minute before Sylar collapsed backwards onto the bed, burrowing his head in his hands. He knew he could easily challenge the geneticist, and win, but he wasn't about to hurt his mate in the process. Not to mention the words echoing through his mind about Mohinder's promise for a reward if he made it through the required checkup. Sylar was defeated. But he was determined to make Mohinder feel as bad about it as possible.

Forcing out tears was no difficult task. He had done it once before while strapped to a chair with an IV pumping curare through his veins. He reached back to that memory of when Mohinder had turned on him and felt the hot wetness pricking the corner of his eyes. Sylar waited until his vision was blurry before he looked up and blinked once, sending a single tear down his cheek.

He joyed inside as Mohinder's face twisted into a frown.

"Aww," his lover purred as he sauntered over to Sylar in heavy boots and wrapped his arms around broad, quivering shoulders.

As Sylar nuzzled into Mohinder's neck wiping away the salty tears on warm flesh his surroundings registered back in his mind. Suddenly the overwhelming scent of antiseptic filled his nostrils, making him dizzy. He groaned, snaking a hand around Mohinder's shoulder to cover his mouth.

"What?"

"It reeks in here!"

"Sylar. That smell just means you are in a clean facility." Mohinder attempted to pull away but his lover only tightened his grip, grunting in disgust.

He buried his nose in Mohinder's hair and breathed as deeply as he could, repeatedly, until Mohinder finally asked,

"What are you doing? That tickles!" He squirmed until Sylar stopped sniffing his scalp.

"Replacing the scent of torture with the smell of Indian spices, Mohinder." He resumed the hound-like gesture, taking in the doctor's aroma.

Mohinder, unable to break free, sunk his teeth into Sylar's shoulder, clamping until he was released.

"Ow!" he rubbed the wounded area with a grimaced face. "What the hell was that for?!"

"Just a taste of what is to come later. And I must say, it was quite delicious."

The grimace faded to a grin and Sylar solidified his excitement for later by chomping his teeth together in a loud animalistic gesture of his hunger for Mohinder.

Both men were startled as the nurse came through the door, knocking as it opened. She looked flushed and breathless, forcing out a friendly smile as she speed past Mohinder.

"We're a little busy today, sorry. Put this on and Doctor Palmer will be in shortly." She flung a light blue gown onto Sylar's lap and, turning to leave, gave Mohinder a look that told him they would be waiting longer than expected.

He sighed as the door clicked, shrugging at the stunned man who glanced down at the tiny piece of cloth and then up at Mohinder.

"Yeah. I'm not putting this on," Sylar stated, shoving it off his lap as though it was laced with poison.

"You have to." Mohinder unfolded the gown, holding it up in the air to get a better look. "The doctor isn't going to undress you, Sylar."

"He will have to."

"Put it on."

"No."

"Yes."

"No," he declined, folding his arms across his chest in objection.

"Yes!" Mohinder lunged for the stubborn body, peeling his coat off hastily and grabbing his shirt from behind, pulling it over his head before the gawky man had the chance to stop the action. Sylar gasped as cold air struck his pale, naked upper body.

"Mohinder!" He growled, grabbing like a child for the shirt that his companion was tossing to the other side of the room in a victorious motion.

"Pants." The Indian motioned to stylish blue jeans. They glowered at each other for a few moments, Sylar testing the limits of Mohinder's patience before leaning back and lying down on the bed with a cocky smirk.

"You want them off? Take them."

Mohinder was happy to oblige, but he was not gentle about the job. Sylar winced as caramel hands forced his pants down long legs in such a speed that it burned his skin.

"Jesus, Mohinder!" he cried out as the force of the motion pulled him off the bed, along with the annoying crinkly paper. He hit the cold floor with a thud, scrambling to his feet to avoid contact with freezing linoleum.

Sylar went to grab the doctor but was caught off guard as Mohinder wrapped him in the gown, ushering his outstretched arms into the proper cloth holes. He all but gave up as the Indian pranced around to his back, tying off the powder blue garment into a perfect bow.

"There," Mohinder breathed, sweat forming on his brow from the tedious work. He ignored the whimper that escaped Sylar's mouth, reaching through the opening of the gown and tugging gently on black boxers.

"What're you doing?!" Sylar spun around, slapping Mohinder's hands away.

"Those have to come off too."

"Uh, I don't think so."

"Sylar."

"Mohinder," he countered, raising a brow in challenge.

"Off."

Sylar only tightened his lips together, shaking his head 'no' in defiance.

Mohinder contemplated for a moment before turning and opening the door, peeking his head into the hall. He looked left and then right, calling out to their nurse just before she slipped into another room.

"Excuse me! How much longer, miss?"

"A while!" she called back, irritated.

"Good." Mohinder retorted after closing the door.

"Good? How is it good that we have to be stuck in this hell hole?"

"Because," Mohinder stalked towards him, "it means we have time to play."

"Play?" Sylar wasn't sure how exactly Mohinder wanted to fool around in a doctor's exam room, but he surely didn't protest as he watched the Indian strip off his own jacket seductively.

"Dr. Suresh is ready for your examination, Mr. Gray," Mohinder teased, running his hands down Sylar's front. He grinned in his own excitement at the feel of a lean body through the thin gown.

"This is one we haven't tried before," Sylar smirked. "Raping you in a sterile room will be both creepy and thrilling."

"Hmm, you can't rape the willing, Mr. Gray. And who said you get to fuck me?" With that he plunged his mouth onto Sylar's, kissing with such force and passion that both men fell backwards onto the bed. During the lip lock he ran his hand up and down Sylar's barely clothed body, groping a hardening erection with a finesse that the taller man longed for every minute of the day.

Sylar groaned his approval into Mohinder's mouth, whimpering after the Indian slid off of him to remove his black boxers.

"What if someone comes in?" he asked, sitting up and placing his hands over his groin nervously as the gown rode a little too far.

"Hold the door closed with telekinesis." Mohinder unbuttoned his loud plaid shirt for better range of motion and rolled up the sleeves before pressing Sylar back down onto the bed.

He heard a soft click and a creak from the door and knew that they were now secured in their privacy at the invisible hand of Sylar's ability.

"Well now," Mohinder cooed, climbing onto the bed and kneeling on the end between long, pale legs. "Let's have a look, shall we?" The remnants of the annoying white paper crinkled loudly as Mohinder shifted, leaning downwards to blow cool air over Sylar's erection.

The taller man groaned, rolling his head back as he felt the touch of soft fingers slide up his length.

Mohinder stroked him gently, tauntingly slow, waiting for the moment when his lover would start to twitch underneath him for more. It didn't take long; within seconds Sylar was writhing and bucking his hips. Mohinder took the cue and fisted the pulsing erection, moving his hand quicker with greater pressure.

"Ohhh," the patient moaned, gripping harshly onto the edges of the bed to ride out the pleasure rolling over his body like hot lava. Mohinder bent down to plant wet kisses on Sylar's neck before tonguing his ear, just the way he knew the watchmaker loved.

"I...I oh-" Sylar gasped as the hand around his member squeezed lightly.

"You what?" Mohinder breathed into his ear.

"I should go...to the doctor...more often," he panted, tensing all the muscles in his body when a warm caramel thumb massaged the tip.

Mohinder nibbled at his ear lobe in response, encouraging Sylar to overcome his fear of the yearly visit. He retreated and the man below him stated his disapproval by reaching out for Mohinder's hair.

"There's nothing to be afraid of here, Sylar."

He hovered for a moment over the erection, breathing fiery passion-filled air onto the sensitive flesh before taking Sylar into his mouth.

"Oh FUCK!" Sylar called out, prompting Mohinder to reach a hand out and cover his mouth. The watchmaker didn't care; it merely muffled his moans.

He pumped his head up and down, quickening ever so slightly with each dip, tasting as much of his lover as possible. Sylar's constant hungry growl vibrated through his palm, tickling his golden skin. Nearly giggling from the vibration, Mohinder moved his hand, pushing his fingers into that whining mouth. They were promptly sucked by Sylar and licked with a hyper tongue.

An even noisier sound came when Mohinder swallowed around Sylar, causing the lean man to curl up into a sitting position. Mohinder grunted his objection, removing the saliva-slicked fingers and shoving Sylar back down onto the bed with a loud smack as he met the paper.

"Mohinderrrrrrrrr," Sylar whined, tangling his fingers in those luscious brown curls. Mohinder enjoyed the free scalp massage, realizing that the harder he sucked the more those long fingers caressed his head.

Like a chain reaction to the pleasurable groping on his always tired cranium, the geneticist hummed around Sylar as he dipped his head to the base.

"Hmmmm."

With that overwhelming vibration rolling over his erection, Sylar released. It was as though magma was pushed through every available pore, sparking lust behind his eyes and leaving him breathless. Before he could cry out, Mohinder jumped forwards and clamped both hands over Sylar's mouth, laying on top of the writhing body.

"Mmm...mmm...mmm," Sylar moaned as he panted through the shock waves of pleasure rolling through him. When the sounds subsided, Mohinder got up wearily, glancing down at his sex-stained shirt,

"Hell," he cursed under his breath, rushing to the large silver sink in the corner of the room and washing his shirt frantically. When he turned, paper towels in hand, to clean off his lover's stomach, Mohinder had to pause to take in the hilarious sight. Sylar was laying with all four limbs hanging gawkily off the table, nearly to the ground in his unnatural height. He had the biggest and most satisfied grin masking his face, staring at the ceiling and panting in complete nirvana.

Sylar flinched from his euphoric state as he felt dampened paper towel rub against his flesh.

"Cold!" he cringed.

"I have to clean you up. We don't want the doctor seeing that."

"Then why did you do it?"

"To make you more comfortable. It worked, didn't it?"

Sylar sat up when Mohinder was finished, smoothing his gown out. As all the pleasure faded from his body, a ping of nerves twisted his stomach into a ridiculously tight knot. He wanted to say 'No, it didn't work. Got any other ideas?' but he decided against it. His lover had just given him the equivalent of a proverbial lollipop to make him be good while at the doctor, and he decided he certainly wanted more later.

"There," Mohinder said as he threw the evidence into the trash can. "Now we wait."

"What time was my appointment scheduled for again?"

"Three o'clock."

The watchmaker glanced at his wrist noting that it was now three forty-five.

"Well this is ridiculous. I hope they don't make us pay for it," he huffed, folding his arms.

"Sylar, doctors are never on time. We are always running behind in one way or another." Mohinder sat in the chair by the door and picked up a magazine, flipping through it absent mindedly.

"You know, Mohinder. We wouldn't even be here if I had that wonderful healing ability."

"We've been over this. You can't kill Claire Bennet."

"Peter?"

"No!"

"Well there must be someone out there with that same ability. Someone that wouldn't even be missed. I just need to do a little research and-"

"Sylar! That is enough! No killing of any people with special abilities, period! You will go to the doctor like everyone else, and you will get examined like everyone else."

The watchmaker tried his damnedest not to smile. He just loved pushing Mohinder's buttons. The man's passion was quite a turn-on.

"But.."

"But what?"

Sylar went to speak and was interrupted by a feverish knock at the door.

The intruder pushed in, not waiting for a reply, and both men shot to their feet.

"Ah, hello Mr. Gray. Sorry for the wait."

Sylar looked the woman up and down as she thumbed through his file.

"Who are you?" he questioned. She laughed, thinking it was a joke at first, but noticed his confused face. Mohinder stood silent in amusement.

"I'm Doctor Palmer." She extended her hand but received no mirrored offering from Sylar.

"You must have the wrong patient," the tall man stated.

"No, Gabriel. I'm you're doctor." She smiled kindly, glancing over to Mohinder who gave her a tired shrug.

"A woman?! No."

"I'm sorry but my husband, the other doctor working here, is sick today. That is why we are so busy."

Sylar stepped away, the back of his knees meeting the bed and causing him to sit with a thud.

The doctor started working on him, listening to his breathing with her stethoscope and looking into his ears and throat while receiving menacing stares. Every touch made him flinch.

When she went to check his blood pressure, wrapping the tight cuff around his muscular bicep, he gasped harshly and startled the woman.

Mohinder decided to intervene, not wanting Sylar to TK the woman out the door in shock.

"Uh, Doctor Palmer, apologies. He's just a little...nervous."

She nodded knowingly, reaching out for Sylar's shoulder and squeezing gently. He jumped, but surprisingly did nothing to harm her, even as she pumped the gauge to a severely tight tension.

"Don't be nervous, Gabriel. I'll be gentle. I do this all the time." She unwrapped the cuff, jotting his high blood pressure down in his records.

Something dangerous flickered in Sylar's eyes as his brow lowered.

"That's not my name."

"I'm sorry?" She quirked her head to the right in confusion.

"My name. It isn't Gabriel."

"Oh, but it says right here...see...Gabriel Gray. I don't know how this record could be wrong." The doctor fumbled for her pen, intent on making a note of the error.

"My name is-"

"Gabriel!" Mohinder stepped in front of him before he could finish, giving the man the most serious look he could muster. Nothing good ever followed his cocky "My name is Sylar!" speech, and Mohinder feared for the woman as the air around his lover thickened.

"His name is Gabriel, but his nickname is Sylar. He prefers that," Mohinder said, stepping away.

"Sylar?" she asked hesitantly. "Alright then. Sylar." Her pen scribbled furiously on the folder, something much longer than the five-letter name, and the watchmaker suddenly wished he had the ability to read upside-down.

When Dr. Palmer turned to get her supplies situated on the counter by the sink, Mohinder mouthed the words 'Be good' to Sylar. His voice was barely a whisper, inaudible to the doctor, but Mohinder knew Sylar could hear him.

In response those devious lips mouthed the word 'Brains', jokingly, but Mohinder failed to see the humor. He was tempted to smack Sylar, something that hadn't been done since their last kinky sexcapade.

Mohinder's angry thoughts were broken as Doctor Palmer spun around, large needle in one hand and a vial full of clear liquid in the other. She plunged the needle in and started filling it with the medicine, much to the dismay of the fearful ex-murderer.

Mohinder prayed silently to his many God's as a visible tremor shot through Sylar's body.

He saw the man's jaw clench, lips curling, body tensing, eyes narrowing, and to Mohinder it resembled just a little too closely the look he'd seen in Sylar's eyes before he'd killed in the past.

"Alright," Doctor Palmer said, slowly easing the needle out and pushing the stopper slightly. Sylar flinched as a spurt of the medicine flew past him. "Are you ready?"

"What the hell do you think you're going to do with that?"

The watchmaker arose from the table and used his towering height to intimidate the woman.

"Um, well, you're due for your shots. In fact, you, uh, haven't had any in years," she stammered.

Mohinder shifted nervously.

"I don't need it."

"You really do, Mr. Gray. If you want to stay healthy, that is."

"Tell me, Doctor. Why get a needless shot when I can just find somebody with a certain special abil-"

"Sylar!" Mohinder grabbed him by the arm, laughing off his statement as a joke. "He's just messing around, please give him the shot." He threw his lover a look of warning while easing him back onto the bed.

"I don't really have time for jokes, Mr. Gray," the doctor murmured, rubbing Sylar's arm with a cold antiseptic. Sylar turned his head, meeting his face with Mohinder's shirt. The geneticist pined inside over the needy gesture. He wrapped an arm around the man, stroking his bare back soothingly where the gown parted. Mohinder knew it was working as he felt the head on his chest nuzzle deeper.

Without preempt she jabbed the needle into Sylar's arm, taking a step back as he turned towards her and growled deeper than Mohinder had ever heard before. She dispensed the medicine as quickly as possible, sliding the needle back out and covering the tiny puncture wound with gauze.

"There. Was that so bad?" Her comforting words were lost in Sylar's panicked breath.

"Yes. Yes it was. You'd think I'd be used to that by now, Doctor, with all the experimentations." He cocked his head to the left, eyebrow perking.

"Oh hell," Mohinder sighed, running his fingers through his curls. "I give up."

"Experimentations?" She questioned nervously.

"Yes. I've been poked and prodded like you wouldn't believe, Doctor Palmer. This is bringing back memories that I don't care to revisit." Sylar went for his clothes that Mohinder had folded neatly and placed on the chair.

"None of that is in your records. Were you ill?"

"Very much so. That is, until I met Dr. Suresh here." He motioned to Mohinder as he stepped into his black boxers. "He keeps me healthy...grounded."

"Well, wait. What are you doing?"

"Leaving. Isn't it obvious?"

She rushed over to him.

"You can't. I haven't done your prostate exam yet!"

The room fell deadly silent as Sylar's head lowered, his breath deepening. He gritted his teeth as his grip on the waist of his blue jeans tightened in white-knuckled anger.

"My what?"

"Prostate...exam. You need one." She stepped back.

As he spoke again, everything in the room began to rattle; colorful water color paintings on the wall shook, glass jars containing cotton balls and tongue presses bounced on the counter, and the blinds waved back and forth, smacking against the window.

"Are we having an earthquake?!" The woman gasped, spinning in a circle to take in the odd occurrence.

"On the contrary," Sylar growled, barely audible due to the loud clamoring his invisible hands were inducing all around the room.

"We're leaving!" Sylar was snapped out of his radiating telekinetic fury when Mohinder grabbed him by the arm and pulled him roughly out the door.

They flew down the hall, through the waiting room and past shocked stares as people gasped at the sight of the tall, gawky man in nothing but boxers and his examination gown.

The car ride home was nothing close to silent. Sylar sat slumped, grinning as he listened to Mohinder rant about his actions in public.

"You cannot use your abilities like that! You have to act normal, and that, Sylar, involves doing normal things. Including going to the doctor!"

"I went, didn't I?"

"Yes, but you acted like a child. Not to mention that you would have killed your doctor if I hadn't been there." Mohinder's grip tightened on the steering wheel. He felt nauseous over the thought of Sylar tossing Doctor Palmer about the examination room like a toy.

"I wasn't going to let her put her hands...there," Sylar hissed.

"Well, you let me, don't you?"

He nodded. "And I like it."

"Good. You're getting a prostate exam when we get home." The watchmaker tried to appear disappointed at the stern statement, but he couldn't suppress the chuckle.

Yes, he was afraid of needles, but it wasn't anything he couldn't ignore. His plan had worked perfectly. Not only had Mohinder given him a blow job without having to do anything in return, but now he would be rewarded with some rather appropriate touching on the spot that makes him purr.

"I can't wait, Mohinder."


End file.
